


Hurts Unseen

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: Sherlock overhears something he shouldn't have done in Greg's office after the Lying Detective.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	Hurts Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

Greg had called Sherlock into the station a week ago to write his statement from Calverton’s visits. He had gone in and done it, looking like hammered crap after their time at Sherrinford. It was a delayed statement but Greg had had no choice. 

The DI made the mistake of leaving the room when his boss phoned and leaving Sherlock unsupervised in his office. Of course he snooped... he was a consulting detective. What he had found, shook him to the core and made him see the last few weeks in a whole different light. 

John had practically moved himself and Rosie back into the flat. How could Sherlock go home after that? Even after everything at Sherrinford...

Mycroft has always said that caring wasn't an advantage and the last 2/3 years he had been beginning to think that was bollocks. In fact, his opinion on that statement had gone up and down. Hadn’t he done a good thing for Mary? Killing for her and her unborn child? The child that now seemed so attached to him. 

“You alright mate?” Greg appeared at the door. 

Sherlock looked up from where he had been staring blankly at the desk leg. “Of course.”

“Everything correct?”

He acted as if he had read through the statement and nodded, he leant over, signed it then got to his feet. 

“In a hurry?”

“Sort of. Yeah.”

With that, he took off out the door, not bothering to put on his coat, only hold it. But he didn’t go home. He didn't know where he was going, but Baker Street was not it. 

***

It was about 6 hours later that the DI got a phone call. He wasn’t surprised to hear from John but he had assumed it would be for a Sherlock in a bad mood rather than a disappearing one. 

“He left here at 3, mate. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“What happened? Was Sherrinford mentioned?”

“No. But he looks rough as hell.”

The doctor sighed. “I know. He won’t sleep nor eat. It’s why I’m worried and it's why we moved back. Sherrinford was... A bit not good."

“I’ll check the CCTV from the front of the Yard. Give me a sec.” Greg held the phone to his ear with one shoulder as he typed away at his computer. He brought of the feed and frowned. “John, he got in a cab but went in a different direction to Baker Street.”

“What the- why?”

“I don’t know. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough earlier.”

“What did you do?”

“John, chill out. I did nothing, I stepped out of the room for 5 minutes, when I got back he bailed.”

The doctor sighed heavily on the other end. “Do we phone Mycroft?”

“I will. You just get over here.”

***

Sherlock stared at the ceiling of his hotel room, like he had for the last 3 hours, entirely unphased by any of the noises passing by outside. 

John’s interview was going around and around in his head. He had taken a severe beating from the older man that day. He had felt guilty, he had felt like he deserved it. John may have saved him... but he hadn't apologised. He treated him like a burden. All he was doing was trying to help. It didn't matter that he'd killed Magnussen for Mary, he'd killed Mary that was clearly all John cared about. 

Magnussen, Magnussen, Magnussen was going around and around in his head. Even now he had done the right thing, but maybe his judgement was too far off... He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the tears that trailed down his face. He wanted to hurt him, hurt John the way he had hurt him. But he knew he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had seen John as his best friend, how could you hurt your friends? He closed his eyes and hit his palms on the side of his head, thumping repeatedly. Over and over again he made sacrifices for John. Letting Moriarty go at the pool... Opening the safe at Irene Adler's despite knowing the contents could destroy the world... Jumping from a rooftop... Running into a bonfire... And shooting Magnussen, that had to be the worst thing he'd done for John, the worst for his concionsous to deal with. 

The sound of raised voices drew his attention from his head to the corridor just outside his room. That was John's voice, what was going on-

“Sherlock! Sherlock open the door!” The doctor’s fist was hammering the wood so hard, it threatened to buckle and shatter beneath his hand. 

Not wanting to face him, and not caring how he had found him, Sherlock slipped into his Belfast and went for the window. He was out in seconds, not caring it was the third story and what would happen if he fell. He found purchase on the windowsill and made his way across to the drain pipe, shimming down.

He landed on his feet with ease as he dropped but as he looked up he saw Mycroft and his men. He sighed, then turned to go the other way, but unsurprisingly Mycroft's minions blocked the path. Not caring what happened, Sherlock took a running jump and hopped onto the black sedan that was clearly Mycroft's beside him, he slid across the roof landed neatly on his feet and raced off across the road. He left behind the sound of car breaks being slammed on and horns being blasted at him.

***

Mycroft shoved the contents on his desk off onto the floor with a loud clatter at the latest report. 

"It has been three weeks!" He yelled breathing deeply. "Three whole weeks and you lot have not found a single scrap of evidence that my brother is still in London. Or in fact, left London. You have no idea!" 

Sherlock had disappeared into an underground tube station. Hiding from Mycroft wasn't easy, they both knew that, but he could get lost in a constantly moving crowd and that would slow the older man down, and it had, quite successfully. 

The last footage that had of Sherlock was him getting on a train. He had sat in one corner and just waited. It had seemed to Mycroft, every time he watched the footage, that he didn't know where the train was taking him. It could have been heading toward a cliff edge and he wouldn't have made a move to get off. 

Greg appeared at the door, looking exhausted, he had barely left the club, he couldn't trust Mycroft alone right now. "Babe, you need to think. To find Sherlock you need to think like Sherlock!"

"I have been," Mycroft fell back in his seat waving his men away with one hand. "Every abandoned warehouse, every member of his homeless network, every drug den, they're empty, there's nothing. No sign he's been to any of them."

"Then his aim wasn't to get high."

Mycroft paused and stared up at his boyfriend who had paused in front of his desk. "Your office. Have you touched it since that day?"

"No. I've been here with you." 

"We need to go there right now."

The DI just nodded. "Let's go."

***

Sherlock drifted into semi conciousness, half way between asleep and awake when there was a loud bang on the roof of the car. He jerked awake in time to see armed men appear at the door. He practically fell from the seat he had been asleep on in his haste to get up and scrambled for the hole in the floor. He rolled out of the car and began to run up the tracks, pausing almost instantly when he saw more armed men. He sighed as he raised his hands, wondering what was going to happen, then he saw Mycroft behind them, getting closer. He said nothing as Mycroft paced towards him, anger clearly scratched into every part of his face. 

Sherlock took a nervous step backwards but Mycroft grabbed his shirt. "Are you high?" He yelled, shaking him. 

He couldn't do this any more. He couldn't run. He pulled out of his brother's grip and just dropped to his knees in the gravel, burying his head in his hands and beginning to cry, for the first time since hearing John's conversation with Lestrade. 

Mycroft stared down at his brother in shock. Then looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Greg was running up the railway line. 

"What made you think of this place?" Greg asked catching them up, then he saw Sherlock and froze. 'Whats going on?' he mouthed to the older Holmes who merely shrugged in response. 

"Sherlock," Mycroft took a deep breath and crouched down beside him. "You heard the conversation, didn't you? That Gregory had with John."

Sherlock nodded and sighed. “Please let me go, Mycroft. I'll keep out of your way, I promise."

The older Holmes was immediately concerned, his face drew together tightly. 

“Why?”

When his brother made no move to respond, Mycroft cupped his cheek. "Why do you want to leave, little brother?"

“You'll make me see, John. Please, don't. I'll just leave London and get out of your way.”

Frowning, Mycroft knelt beside his kneeling brother. It was obvious, immediately that Sherlock had just wanted to disappear, not cause so much hassle. 

"My men will gather up your things. You can come and stay at ours for a while," he glanced at Greg who nodded, understanding. 

It wasn't until they reached the car and they were heading towards Mycroft's apartment that the government official spoke. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, clearly unsure of himself. 

Sherlock pulled his knees up to his chest and turned to the window. "Why doesn't he trust me. I've always trust him?"

Greg looked over his shoulder briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. "He does trust you, mate."

“The things he said to you after..." He let his head thump the window. "He never apologised for that day, not really. Now I know why, all along he was... What? Using me as a punching bag?"

"I don't think that's what he meant, Sherlock," it was Greg who had spoke and it was after a few awkward moments of Mycroft stumbling over what to say. 

"Why did he say those things? I killed Magnussen for him. For Mary. I jumped off Bart's and had to disappear for 2 whole years. For 2 whole years in hell, and he never once asked about it. I did it all for him. Did Mycroft tell you I have nightmares?"

"What?" Greg looked across at his boyfriend, he didn't know if he was more surprised he hadn't heard about them or more surprised that it had been Sherlock the information had come from.

"I did this to myself for him. I know you've been listening Mycroft I just didn't see the point in removing the bugs in my flat. After Serbia... Well they were rather comforting actually."

This whole conversation... Or near monologue of Sherlock's was almost too much for Greg to bear. The younger man had never been so forthright or so damn honest about his feelings like this before, not ever. Mycroft could clearly read his face because he leant over and whispered, "he's angry, just let him riff." 

With a jerky nod, he returned his attention back to the road. 

"Are you planning on hiding forever, little brother?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm just not going home."

"You're angry," Greg said it loud enough for Sherlock to hear as they pulled up outside their apartment. "And you have every right to be, but Rosie has done nothing wrong. And she needs you. And John does care about you, no matter what you may be thinking right now."

"I know he doesn't."

"How can you possibly know that for sure?"

Sherlock sighed as he climbed from the car, Mycroft having actually opened the door for him. 

"That train car was the one that had the bomb in it 5 years ago. The one where John said he forgave me. The simple fact Mycroft found me first, says it all."


End file.
